Breaking Point (Part 3)

I toyed with him for a bit. Helped him explore his body, experience it a bit, kneading his fat, jiggling it, giving him a better idea of what had happened to him, lifting his head up and helping him see what had happened to him, but he went with denial. I had just drugged him, and he was hallucinating. None of this was possible, in his mind. That’s an understandable reaction, but his denial was rooted not in confusion–but instead from a place of utter narcissism. He simply couldn’t conceive something like this could possibly happen to him, he was so confident in his invulnerability. It was…so aggravating.

I admit, a good amount of the pleasure I get from this work is in seeing them break. The late breakers, I love them because the eventual disaster of their ego is so total, once it hits them, that it’s so much more satisfying. I’ve encountered this same narcissism before, of course, but the amount of work it takes, for these assholes like Leon, to really destroy them? It sometimes feels like more effort than it’s worth. I couldn’t very well slow down now, however. If I backed off, then he’d only grow ever more insufferable to everyone he ever encountered in the future, and I couldn’t do that to them. I was this far already, so I’d just have to keep going.

I had toyed with him long enough, now, that he had assumed that this would be the extent of his changes–so when I got back down in front of him and wrapped my lips around the cigar once more, he began demanding to know what I was doing. I toyed with the easy route for a moment–I could simply pull out his narcissism, his sense of victory, his confidence that the world would eventually always right itself in his favor, but what would that accomplish? It would still exist, in the cigar, ready to be inhaled by whoever smoked it. No, it would have to be extinguished in some other way. I inhaled deep, and pulled out his heterosexuality. Another inhale, I pulled away his dominant spirit and ability to disobey. And finally, with a massive breath, I tugged at his youth and began syphoning it away from him and storing it away in the expanding cigar.

But how much to take? How much would be enough? For someone like this fucker, it would have to be substantial. He had no real idea what was happening at first, it always starts as this sudden fatigue of the spirit, but the physical reality comes chasing on the heels. I could see his bush start lightening to a faded grey, the same with the light dusting of hair that remained on his massive belly. His face grew lined and creased, hair receding back until all that remained was a horseshoe cropped short. Jowls sagged onto multiple chins, and the rest of his fat lost it’s support, and also began to droop in folds around him where he sat, no longer firm.

That was enough, I figured–besides, I had almost nothing else to work with. The cigar had nearly overtaken his entire cock, leaving him with a one inch nub buried inside his gunt. His balls were so small that his sack could barely be distinguished from his fat. I pulled the cigar away and slid the band down to the middle, feeling it secure everything I had taken from Leon in place until I needed it later.

I showed him the cigar then, and told him what it was. Everything I had taken from him–it could be his again, all he had to do was smoke it. I could see him trying to make his hands work properly to grab for it, but I just laughed, went to the safe in my trailer and locked the cigar inside, telling him that if he was a good piggy he could have his old life back at the end of the summer, but for right now, his boss had other needs. The paralysis had began to wear off, and I told him to get over here and suck my cock. I didn’t help him—he tumbled from the chair, no longer able to resist a direct order from me (well, from anyone, in fact) and crawled weakly to where I was standing, fat dragging on the floor. I could see the disgust in his face–he hadn’t realized just how much I had taken from him. He…wanted to suck me off. He wanted to obey my orders. It felt good, all of a sudden, and that betrayal did more to unseat his confidence than anything. He was being betrayed by his own body–and seeing that happen right in front of my eyes, well, I didn’t last long, I can tell you that.

After he swallowed down my cum, I gave him a handful of normal cigars, telling him he’d be smoking them non-stop from now on. He immediately lit one up, trying to suck down too much smoke, and coughing it back up immediately. While he coughed, I told him that he wouldn’t be able to go back home, not looking how he was. His parents and friends wouldn’t even recognize him, if he tried to find them. As far as the world was concerned, his old self had never existed, but he would still need somewhere to stay. Thankfully, I had a solution. I knew Leon wouldn’t like it, of course, but what did that matter? To get him to the breaking point, he needed to be lowered further still, so when the full scope of his new life struck, well, it would be all the sweeter for me.

The Ideal Body Program (Part 2)

Three years turned passed at times slowly, and at times quickly. When he was awake and working out, following the compulsory workouts to the exact directives ingrained in his mind, the days seemed to fly by in a daze of counting and exhaustion. But when he spent days staring at his computer screen, desperately fighting it’s newest demands over and over, trying to resist in whatever way he could, every minute seemed to drag out into a lifetime. He fought so hard, in fact, that by the end of the first year he had fallen behind schedule. To Jerry, this felt like a victory–he could beat this thing, he could fight the program if he could just keep his wits about himself. Unfortunately for him, the program had come to the same conclusion.

He didn’t notice it much at first. He assumed he was just tired and exhausted from the diet and routine the program had forced on him. That he was just having a hard time focusing. But then he began noticing that he was having a hard time spelling and writing anything beyond simple one or two syllable words. By the time he realized what must be happening, it was too late, the hypnosis wearing his mind down further and further until all Jerry could manage to write was his name–not that three letters were too hard to remember, since he started going by Jer at the gym, instead of Jerry. Without a mind to resist, by the end of the second year Jer had gained all of his lost ground, and was even ahead of schedule, which made him happy. The program was proud of him after all, and he was looking like a real brute. Because the program now expected him to be finished with his program six months early, Jer was given the choice of some additional programs he could add to his ideal body and future life.

Of course, without much of a mind–and without any capacity for imagination, he was having a hard time trying to come up with anything that he might want. The best he could do was a request that he get even bigger–more muscle “super extra huge” as he told the program. Thankfully the program was willing to make suggestions, and while he wasn’t quite sure what a “man whore” was, if it meant he’d have sex, then he wasn’t going to complain. He liked sex, and he liked playing with his cock. Looking at his hard body made him hard too, and why not put that to good use?

The drugs began arriving not soon after that, and his muscle’s exploded in size, so large that he was having trouble moving, but fuck that, he looked so damn hot! especially with the foot long cock and huge balls he’d developed as well, thanks to whatever the program was sending him. The program began bombarding him sex–porn videos, sex toys, all sorts of things to practice his new profession with, but he thought it was odd that all the people the program was showing him, the kinds of people he was becoming attracted to, weren’t people like him. No, they were older–much older. And fat, and hairy. He thought that was odd, but his head couldn’t put up much of a fight. before too long, he couldn’t imagine being attracted to anyone else. If anything, his hulking body kind of disgusted him, but what could he do about it? It was his money maker. The dates started not too long after that.

Thankfully the program supplied him with an ample number of clients. Generally, he would wake up and eat, before immediately launching into his massive daily workout. Then, around five he would shower, put on whatever outfit his john had requested for the evening, and meet him for that night’s date. Sometimes they wanted to have dinner, and he’d be dressed in a suit and tie. He couldn’t make conversation, but he knew how to suck cock between courses in the bathroom. Other times they’d skip the niceties entirely, and just send him a hotel room where they’d meet. The worst, however, were the ones who’d have him come right to their house, usually in some strange leather or rubber get up supplied by the program. Those were the twisted ones–making him drink piss, fisting his tight hole, whipping and paddling him until he begged them to stop. But he did…like it. He liked being a whore. He liked having sex with these perverts, and they certainly paid him handsomely–not that he kept much of it.

Even after the three years had elapsed, he’d opted to remain in IBP’s maintenance program. It cost a lot, but the program always made sure he had a steady supply of clients and drugs to keep his massive size steady. Still, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but feel like something had gone horribly wrong. He could…kind of remember who he’d been, before all of this. The memories were fuzzy…but hadn’t he been kind of like the men he had sex with every night? Wealthy? Sexy? Confident? He kind of…envied them, a bit. They seemed to have everything under control–including him. All Jer could do was lift heavy things, take a foot long cock down his throat without gagging, and turn heads when he walked down the street. When the program gave him a feedback form and he said he was only somewhat satisfied, the program put those concerns to rest permanently with another round of hypnosis. Finally, Jer was just a perfectly happy, musclebound man whore for the rest of his days.

The Ideal Body Program (Part 1)

Who had time to go to the gym anymore? He certainly didn’t, but that fact didn’t exactly make him feel much better about the reflection in the mirror. Jerry had hit thirty a few years ago and that had been fine, aside from some mild existential angst which had gone away, but it was looking like forty was going to be the real hurdle. Work had always been the focal point of Jerry’s life, and with his youthful metabolism he’d always been able to keep his slender figure as well–but that was changing, and he knew there was nothing he could do about it…aside from maybe getting a gym membership. But who in the hell had time? He gripped his small belly, pinching the fat with his hands, and frowned, thinking of all the older upper level managers with their guts and their drinks after work and their stupid, unfunny jokes he forced himself to laugh at even after hearing them often enough to have them memorized. That would be him. That was going to be him, if he didn’t do something about it, but what could he do?

Like most people with a dream and too little time to invest in it, he started looking for shortcuts. Try a fad diet? He picked out a couple, but he knew none of them would deliver any sort of lasting results. He did end up getting a gym membership, but aside from a few introductory sessions with a trainer, he could never quite line up a schedule to go consistently. All, the while, we watched his body round out a little more each day. Just was he was working up the mental will to resign himself to a rotund fate, he found something new, something called “The Ideal Body Program.”

It seemed simple enough. All he had to do was put in information about himself and his current habits and lifestyle, and then give some details regarding what kind of body he would like to have, and the program’s algorithm would generate the perfect diet and exercise program for him, tailored both to his current lifestyle and the body of his dreams. It seemed like a dream come true, and the questionnaires were free to fill out–if exceedingly detailed. He’d thought some of the dating websites he’d signed up for had been painful–this was something else entirely. It took him nearly an entire weekend to finish all of the questions in all the required detail, but it would be worth it, right? All this work in the front end would mean he could finally have a solution to his problem.

But what was his ideal body? He’d always been on the slender side, and the idea of being like those fat older men disgusted him, but what did he really want to be? Truthfully, he’d always sort of wished he could be more muscular. He’d always…idolized those jocks back in school, who could work out, that sort of…powerlifter body. He’d dated a few, and by and large they had been boring, dull souls, but fuck, they’d been sexy as hell in bed, even if he hadn’t managed a relationship with any of them. But that’s what he wanted, he wanted to look like that. Big arms, wide chest, thick tree trunk legs. Sure, he’d have to buy all new suits–hell, a new wardrobe, but it was an ideal body right? Why not indulge in a little fantasy?

The forms were finished, he double checked them all and submitted them for processing. It took around an hour for a confirmation email to appear in his email inbox, alerting him to the fact that his personalized plan was prepared for him, but he discovered he wouldn’t be able to see the plan until he’d paid the full fees required–which turned out to be three years in advance, and at 100 dollars a month…well, that turned out to be quite a substantial sum of money. He thought about it for the rest of the day. There was no way he could spend that kind of money on this…but what did he really expect? Still, three years was a long time, but the company promised results. In fact, there was a guarantee that if the plan didn’t perfectly fit their schedule and give them their ideal body, they could have their money back. So…he did it. He put in his account information (the site refused to take credit cards) and hit submit, navigated through his site to his personal plan of action, and all it said was: “Quit your job. Once you have quit your job, further instruction will be given. Are you ready to quit your job?”

And below, a yes and no button.

It couldn’t be serious. He wasn’t going to quit his job! This was supposed to fit his schedule, not ruin it. He clicked the no button, and the screen was suddenly filled with a swirling, colorful patterns. He stared at it for a moment, his consciousness draining away, just focusing on the pattern. Every half hour, the sentence “Are you ready to quit your job?” would appear with another yes and no prompt–his hand would come alive for a moment, and he kept pressing no, but slowly, his hand lost its urgency. It began hovering over the yes button, until finally, at last, he clicked it, and the pattern evaporated, leaving Jerry blinking at his computer screen, unable to believe he’d just lost seven hours…but he had something he had to do. He called up his boss and told him he wouldn’t be coming in ever again, that he had to free up his schedule, that he wouldn’t understand. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself…and since he’d already prepaid for three years in hard cash, he didn’t think he’d be stopping himself any time soon.

The Fetish Gun (Part 8)

The three of them, two filthy derelict biker and one short, overmuscled pig with milk leaking from his tits and cock, left the apartment building and never returned. A few neighbors witnessed them leaving, but for some reason none of them regarded it as particularly odd, after Jeff shot them with the gun of course, and each of them returned to their own, newly fetished lives without another thought–sometimes literally.

Jeff was ecstatic. Finally, it was his. Sure, at first he’d resented Ray for changing him without even asking him first, but in that old body, he’d realized how…wonderful it was to be in control. One night, Ray made him his own personal pain slave, and that whole night…it had opened his eyes. This is how life was meant to be lived, but he’d always been second fiddle, until now. Now he was the one really in charge. Now he had the gun, now he could do whatever the fuck he wanted, and what he wanted now was a whole lot of fucking–starting with Ray, of course.

Ben remained a few respectful steps behind his master, still trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened to him that evening, from the alley to the apartment, and now this. Who even was he, anymore? His mind tried to answer the question for him, telling him he was Master Jeff’s obedient biker pup, that he’d do anything for him, that he’d serve him for the rest of his life, and even though he knew that was wrong, the words rang so true so deeply that it was quickly becoming impossible for him to even imagine an alternative…and yet, there had to be one, right? He could still barely remember walking into that alley to take a piss, and then…then everything. But that was getting harder and harder to hold onto, and fading faster than he could believe–in fact, by the time they reached the bar, he no longer remembered any of it. Instead, his head had filled in the blanks with a new life, a life spent at Jeff’s dirty boot heel, and he loved every moment of it.

Wade wasn’t thinking anything at all–his entire mind had been wiped, replaced by simple, instinctual impulses. His massive balls and missing cock were on display for all the see, and he felt no shame, or pride, or anything. What he did feel was pain. His balls and pecs were…brimming with cum and milk, and he needed release, soon, or his mind worried he might simply explode. The thump of his thighs against his huge sack as he walked helped, a jet of cum fling out with each forward step, and he kept his hands locked on his nipples, tugging and yanking and twisting them like faucets, his chest and gut soaked with his own milk, but it wasn’t enough. He would slow on occasion, and Master would yank on his nose ring, the bell around his neck clinking, and he’d give a pained moo, but pick up the pace, hopeful that his master would give him relief soon.

After a twenty minute walk, they arrived back at Ray’s bar–the bar he’d fashioned with his leather master sensibilities in mind, and while a day earlier Jeff had been in love with the place, now it seemed…far too clean and bright and open. He wanted dingy concrete. He wanted urinals and tobs brimming with piss. He wanted darkness and red lights and unknown bodies grinding against his. Still, that could wait–Ray was in there, at the bar, his personal bartender serving him bourbon. He looked annoyed–Jeff was late, but he’d been late for good reason. Still, he couldn’t confront him yet–he had something else in mind first. From here, he could do whatever he wanted to Ray, of course, but it had to be perfect–and he had just such an idea in his head.

“Cow, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to go in there and walk up to him, just let him notice you, and let him do whatever he wants to you–got it?”

Wade understood, and he waddled inside. He turned quite a few heads, including Ray, who could barely believe what he was seeing…and then he recognized him as their missing thief, and then the gun’s ray struck him right in the chest. he barely had time to register what had happened, and then he was up, his nose flaring, drawing him closer to the mancow approaching him, and he fell to his knees, latched onto a nipple, and started sucking, helpless to the crippling addiction that had overwhelmed him suddenly. The pleasure hit Wade in wave after wave, cum spewing freely from his cock, the entire bar watching what was happening.

“Having a good evening, Ray?”

He managed to crook his eyes up, and saw Jeff approaching him, the gun in his hand, “Fuck…Fuck you, fucking stop this,” he managed to saw with the nipple still glued to his lips.

“I’m not doing anything, Ray. You seem like the one who should stop, if you don’t want to make a complete fool of yourself. Then again, it doesn’t feel like you want to stop, now does it?” he added, slipping one dusty boot between them, pressing the outside against Ray’s still massive, sensitive sack and making him groan with pleasure and pain, “In fact, I bet you’d like to be a cow too, eh? Making some milk of your own. How does that sound?” He adjusted the dial on the gun, “I think it sounds pretty good myself.”

My Boys – Part 5

Light was streaming in through the slanted shades; the only reason Nick woke up was because the room had become uncomfortably hot in the morning sun. He’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, and he simply laid there for a few minutes, too exhausted to consider moving, trying to process everything that had happened to him the night before, and simply failing to do so. It felt like all of that had just happened to…someone else. His pants were off but his shirt was still on, though it felt incredibly tight on him, making it a bit difficult to breathe. He sat up, muscle aching, and tried to peel it off, but the fabric simply ripped apart as he tried, and he ended up shredding it as he pulled, looking down at himself, as this body he was inside, and he couldn’t…this couldn’t…

The hair. The fuckin’ hair. He ripped the bits of shirt away and looked down at himself. The hair was everywhere, all over him, coating him so thickly that he couldn’t even see the skin. But more than that…it wasn’t…his hair. He hadn’t exactly been hairless to begin with, he’d had a decent coating of brown hair, but this new hair, it was multicolored. Not in patches, but different colors intermixed all over, in every color, although a few seemed to be dominant–browns, a huge amount of bright red over his chest and belly, and a dingy white climbing up his shoulders and down his entire back.

He looked around the room. Sean was still in his bed, snoring louder than Nick had ever heard before. He had never managed to get undressed yesterday, and like his brother, he had simply ripped his way out of them, aside from his shirt, which was riding up on top of his belly, cupping two massive moobs like a bra. He had somehow ended up even fatter than their uncle–no, not really their uncle, that cook, just a cook!–had been before…everything that happened last night, and looking at him now, Nick could feel his cock twitching and growing, pushing it’s way out from his tangled multicolored bush to a full nine inches without even thinking much of it. Sean was rolled away from him, and he could just…just picture himself spreading that fat ass and sliding his cock right in his brother’s soft, fat hole…

He stood up from the bed, and suffered a sudden vertigo–he was at least a foot taller than he’d been before, less than a foot away from the seven foot ceilings of the motel. That was enough to snap him from his fantasy, and he tromped to the bathroom, locking himself inside before he could act on…on any of what he couldn’t stop thinking about, right now. The small bathroom was claustrophobic, and he had this buzzing in his head, and he could use a damn beer too, a beer would…would help. He turned on the sink and splashed his face with some water, but almost none of it touched his skin–his face was covered with a huge, thick beard just like the rest of him. He looked at himself, and unlike his body hair, his beard was at least a solid color–a deep red, darker than the red on his chest–and his head hair was the usual light brown…but something was wrong. He stared at himself for a minute, and he swore that he could…see his hair growing right before his eyes. Granted, his beard was massive, reaching down past his chest and curving over his taut, hard gut, but the more he watched, the more certain he was that his hair…it was growing right in front of him.

This was insane. He was going insane. He had to get out of here, he had to get help. Daddy wasn’t here, maybe he could slip out before he got back–

There was something like a psychic slap that hit him then, when he thought about leaving the room. Daddy told him not to leave. Daddy said to wait until he got back. Daddy said…said that if he was bored, then he could…he could…

Fuck…

He stepped out of the bathroom, fighting his own body, but he walked to where his massive brother was sleeping, spit a wad of saliva into his massive, paw like hand, and started lubing up his hard shaft. Spitting…that…that had felt good…He did it a few more times, getting his massive cock good and wet, but like Daddy always said, you gotta eat a man out first. It’s only polite. He got down on his knees, but still had to stoop slightly in order to get his face into his brother’s wide ass crack, probing with his tongue, scraping the sensitive skin with his beard and mustache, listening to his brother’s snores turn into moans as he slowly woke up to the attention on his ass.

“What…what happened…” Sean muttered, and then belched.

“Don’t…don’t worry bro,” Nick said, his voice much deeper, with a natural growl and drawl like their Daddy had, “Big bro’s here tah take care a ya.”

Sean screamed, but all Nick could think about was fucking, as he forced his big cock deep into his brother’s hole, running his huge hands over his brother’s soft body, kneading and groping him, ripping away his tight shirt so he could squeeze his tits and play with his meaty nipples, and before too long, Sean was sighing and panting along with him, the two brother’s rutting happily. Nick shot one load, but he kept on going–reaching down with one hand, digging around in Sean’s gunt until he found his brother’s cock and stroked him as well.

“Bro…” Sean moaned, “Bro, we gotta…we gotta stop…stop this, gotta get help.”

Nick drilled in deeper. His brother didn’t know what he was talking about. “Daddy told us tah fuck, so we gonna fuck. ‘Sides, I like how your fat ass feels ‘round my big cock, don’t you?”

Sean nodded. It did…feel good, and when his huge brother leaned over they kissed eagerly, though Sean, for some reason, thought that his brother’s mouth was…missing something. Something that was usually there, a flavor, but it…wasn’t, for some reason. Not that it really mattered. Now that he was awake, he realized how silly he’d been. Daddy had told them to fuck in the morning after all, and he did want Daddy to be happy, and he shot his wad into Nick’s hand, who licked it off, much of it ending up caught in his long mustache and beard.

“Ya don’t mind if I keep goin’, right bro?” Nick asked, “I’m still horny, and still bored.”

“Fuck my fat ass all morning, you know I ain’t got nothin’ better to do,” Sean said, and they kissed, Nick feeding his brother the cum off his beard, and shooting his second load of the morning deep inside his brother’s ass, and kept going strong.

Office Slut (Sketch)

“…and so you see, when we take a look at our earnings last quarter, we have quite a few opportunities in several divisions…” Jake said, and saw a hand go up around the conference table. “Yes, a question, Mr. Kitridge?”

“Yes, this is all very interesting, but I suppose…well, I suppose that I’m not alone here in the expectation that you were going to be, well, I suppose this isn’t quite the presentation we were all expecting.”

Jacob just stared at him. Not the presentation they’d been expecting? He’d been planning this presentation for weeks! He’d discussed it in detail with his boss just the day before, but he could see him nodding on the other side of the table, agreeing with the question. His face turned bright red, matching his short strawberry beard. “I…I don’t understand. I thought this was supposed to be about my analysis on potential revenue opportunities–”

“Oh Jakey, quit trying to sound so smart. We admire your commitment to the role, but I think what Mr. Kitridge is saying is that he’s less interesting in what you might have to say, and more interested in, well, you know.”

He didn’t know. Or…did he? Mr. Kitridge was smirking at him, one hand dropping into his lap. The other men around the table all seemed to have a similar idea, and…and he was so hot all of a sudden. “Is…is it hot in here, or is it just…just me?”

“Maybe you should take something off to help cool you down, Jakey.”

Jacob was already loosening his tie, pulling it off slowly, unbuttoning his shirt, rubbing his body seductively. The men around the table all stood up, each of their massive cocks hard and jutting out in their suitpants. They encircled him, Mr. Kitridge pushing him down to his knees, and he started sucking each cock in turn, the men jacking off around him. He swallowed a few loads, but the majority of them ended up all over his shaved head, in his beard, the shoulders of his unbuttoned shirt. His hands were busy fondling his own cock in his suitpants, shooting twice into his underwear.

The meeting lasted the rest of the hour, and when the men adjourned, they left Jake to clean himself up as best he could, his boss telling him to go home early–he deserved it for doing such a fantastic job today. Jake didn’t feel like he’d done a fantastic job–he felt violated. He had no idea why any of them had done that, and after cleaning himself up as best he could, he hurried from the office, but everyone was looking at him, he could tell that everyone already knew. All he wanted was to be home, away from all of them. Thankfully the commute was short since he’d left work so early, and when he got to his apartment, he discovered a package at the door, no address or shipping information, and he took it inside with him, and unwrapped it.

Inside was a manuscript, obviously written on a typewritter, at least one hundred pages thick. The top page had only a title, no author–Jakey: The Office Slut. He recalled what his boss had called him, and dreadfully curious, he started reading–discovering that the first chapter covered, in graphic detail, everything that had happened that day in the meeting, and when he reached the end, with Jakey returning to his apartment that afternoon, happy in his role as the office slut, he pushed the book away. What even was this? Who could have written this? And what, exactly, was the rest of the book even about? The future? What would happen if he read it? What would happen if he didn’t?

He left it there for an hour, but curiosity finally got the best of him–he opened up the next chapter and started reading, and kept reading, slowly jacking his cock until he had finished every word. Somehow, it had taken him all night–and Jakey stood up from the table and realized that if he didn’t leave soon, he’d get in trouble for not being in Mr. Kitridge’s office when he arrived for his first blowjob of the day. He got on his suit–now immaculately tailored to emphasize his body, the back of his pants equipped with an subtly obvious zipper for easy rear entry, no underwear of course, and he hurried to the office, already excited to get started on his day of slutting around the office.

Father’s Rules (Part 4)

It wasn’t often that Saul didn’t manage to bring someone home–his standards were relatively low–or, he preferred his standards low. Blake was beginning to suspect it was a matter of choice more than anything. Hell, he’d watched his dad have sex with who knew how many men. Some of them he was certain were hobos he’d picked up off the streets. He was drawn to their desperation, it gave Saul a certain level of control over them that he couldn’t otherwise get, a form of control Blake was well acquainted with. He came home, and Blake sensed that he shouldn’t be there. He tried to excuse himself for a late night trip to the gym, but Saul grabbed his wrist and pulled him over the the couch, where he suggested he help his dad out with a blowjob first. Blake told him there was no way he would ever suck his dad’s cock, not after what he’d done to him. Saul slapped him. Blake tried to punch him, but couldn’t–as always. They fought for a moment, but Blake couldn’t keep him from the list, where his dad wrote:

My son must have sex with me whenever I want.

Blake tried to fight it, but his body is no longer interested in what he might think. His dad yanked down his filthy underwear and rammed his cock in his ass, Blake begging him to be gentler, but Saul just spanked his ass, telling him to fucking enjoy it, that this is how real men fuck. He came quickly, and stumbled off to his room where he passed out, Blake sobbing himself to sleep on the couch, staring at the list. He’d been close–so damn close…

Saul woke him up with his cock at five-thirty. Blake sucked him off. They went to work, together, Saul making him blow him in the truck on their mutual cigar and lunch break, and then came home. Blake had said nothing to him all day, and Saul tried to apologize, tried to tell his son that the list had made him do it. Blake exploded, calling his dad a rapist, calling him a pervert, and he stormed out, spending the rest of the afternoon and evening at the gym, trying to lift away his frustration, and he considered simply staying away entirely, and not going back. He didn’t have to go back there, he could just leave, but something…something dragged his feet back home…where he found his father, once again drunk off his ass, sitting on the couch, naked. Blake found himself sinking to his knees and licking his father’s filthy body clean, from his stinking pits and crusty feet, to his sweaty balls and ripe asscrack. Only then, could he finally beg his father to fuck his fat, nasty pighole. Saul was only too happy to oblige him, and it hurt, but not as much as the night before. In fact, Blake realized he’d soon be used to this, just like he’d gotten used to everything else. It was only afterward that he noticed the list had grown longer, again.

My son must worship and clean my body every day.

My son must beg for me to have sex with him at least three times a day.

Saul came up behind him, stinking of smoke and booze, and ran his hands over his son’s body, “You think I’m a pervert, son? Maybe so, but you’ll be a pervert soon enough too, begging me to fuck you every day, obsessed with my body. And last I checked, you can’t rape the very, very willing.”

“You sick fuck! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“No Blake–the question is what’s wrong with you! I think I’ve neglected a very important part of your education, Blake. I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced and educated in the ways of sex, and who better to show you then your father? I thought I was sparing you, by keeping this distance between us, but you haven’t really learned anything, have you? No, you’re still the same prick, you just look hotter. Well don’t worry–we’ll have you singing a different tune here soon. You’ll be a perfect fucking pigson.”

He shoved Blake against the wall, and Blake could smell him, smell them both. Smell the musk between them, the smoke from both of their cigars, the booze and coffee on their breath, and his cock…his fucking cock was getting hard. When Saul leaned in and kissed him, pushing smoke into his lungs, he tried to push him away, but his efforts grew weaker until he was kissing him back, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Their lips parted–Blake was panting, Saul at ease with a smirk.

“P-Please…” Blake said.

“Please what, son?”

He meant to ask him to stop–he really did. But what came out was Blake begging his father to fuck his face, his knees buckling, Saul only too happy to use his son’s throat. Blake tried to resist, but his hand found his way into his filthy briefs and started jacking his own cock, cumming even before his father did.

“I don’t think you’re going to be sleeping on the couch anymore, do you?”

Blake didn’t respond, and he tried to hold out for the whole night, but when he woke up to smoke a cigar, the longing in him was undeniable, and he climbed into bed with his father, asking him to for a midnight fuck while they smoked. So close–he’d been so damn close, but things were only going to get worse, Blake realized–or, from a different perspective, better–he thought, as his father wrapped him in his burly arms, cock still lodged in his ass, and they drifted to sleep.

Max Meets Junior – Part 2 (Patreon Commission)

By the next morning, it was like Junior had lived with him all his life. By the end of the week, if you had tried to tell him that he hadn’t had a stepson, that he’d never even been married, he would have laughed, and thought you were insane…although he still couldn’t remember ever getting married. Junior was more than family, however, he quickly became a confidant. Max had never been very good at making friends. If anything, he sort of despised people–not that he would ever allow himself to admit something like that–but the fact was, he thought most people were simply cruel, mean and petty. Why would he want to engage with people like that?

He told Junior this and Junior laughed. Max insisted he was serious, and Junior simply told him, “I know, and that’s why you’re going to be so much fun. We’re going to have so much fun together, you and I!”

He laughed again, and not wanting to seem strange, Max found himself laughing too, even though he wasn’t certain what was so funny.

They still hadn’t gotten any further than a kiss, however. Max wanted to, but he didn’t want to want it. Junior could tell, and toyed with him, but made no attempt to force him, because he knew Max would never really want to resist, or even try. Their days settled into a bit of a routine. Max had begun getting up earlier now to cook breakfast for Junior, and Junior insisted that Max eat as well. He would go to work, spend much of the day thinking about his stepson, and then go home. They would eat dinner together, spend the rest of the evening talking, and eventually Max would get tired and go to bed. On the weekend, they had spent most of the day talking again, and most of it had been spent discussing Max’s current dilemma at work.

Max worked for a large technology company as a mid-level manager responsible for a team of eight. However, the new budgets had just been sent down from on high, and Max’s manager had informed him that their budget no longer had any room for “fat or gristle,” as Mr. Herman had said. He said that Max would need to let two people go by the end of the month, but Max hadn’t been able to do it. He didn’t want to fire anyone–he thought his whole team worked hard, and more than that, he needed everyone to get the project done on deadline. He’d tried to explain this to Mr. Herman, who had instead informed him that if he didn’t have names by the end of the week, he would be firing Max instead.

To Junior, the answer was obvious–just fire people. Max didn’t think it was so easy, and he didn’t know if he really wanted to work for a company that was so interested in its bottom line that it would fire good employees. When Max told him that, Jenior just stared at him–or maybe through him or into him, and smirked. “But what about me?” he asked, “Don’t you care about me? You need to keep bringing home the money to keep me happy, daddy.”

“We could make it work, I have some savings, and–”

Junior just scowled at him pursed his lips. Max again had this odd awareness that he didn’t know how old his stepson actually was. That..that he didn’t even really know who he was, either.

“Look, let’s talk about something else. How’s school going.”

“I don’t go to school daddy, you know that.”

“What? But–”

“Look, Daddy, I know you must be tired,” Junior said, standing up and stretching, Max’s eyes feeling heavy even as he tried to focus on his stepson’s crotch as hard as he could, inches from his face, “Why don’t you go to bed–you have an important decision to make this week, and you need your rest.”

“Y-Yeah, I mean, I do feel…tired.”

“That’s a good daddy. Now give me a good night kiss, and go get to bed.”

The Morning After – Owen Part 4

More memories, his mind was trying to catch up and fill in the spaces. How he’d felt that crushing loneliness. How he’d called the escort service, and he’d told them what he’d wanted. Someone…someone young. Someone with daddy issues. Someone with a big thick cock. “Y-Yes…” He stepped closer, knees weak and when the young man pushed him down, he fell, grinding his face into the crotch of his gym shorts, smelling him, wanting to taste him. He started licking the man’s abs–they were hard–too hard, with none of the give of flesh, but he didn’t care–he wasn’t alone…right?

“Is that what you want, Owen? A parade of muscular young men? All of them hung low, happy to fuck you?”

The young man pushed his shorts down. He wasn’t wearing underwear. Own sucked on his semi-hard cock, his hands exploring his body.

“We can do that, for you. Why don’t we call out and order a few escorts, eh? Then we could have a few more people to play with. What do you think? It’s so boring being all alone.”

Alone. He hated being alone. He wanted to taste this cock forever…and yet…and yet…this was wrong. This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t want this to be happening. This isn’t what he wanted, he didn’t want this! His body was still sucking, however. He could feel his ass aching for cock. But this wasn’t real. This wasn’t real, and with his hand, he mustered as much force as he could, pulled his hand back in a fist, and slammed it against the young man’s body.

There was the sound of something shattering, and his hands felt something strange. He looked up, and the young man’s body had a crack running through it from the top of his head down his face and neck, to the side of his torso–and the body fell back to the floor, where it shattered. The rest of the body followed, the cock breaking off in his mouth. Terrified, he spit it out, feeling the glass cut his lip. On the ground, the pieces had broken into bits smaller than dust, and aside from a faint glimmer, it was like they’d never existed at all.

“Not what you wanted after all? You’re a fun one, Owen–yes, we’re going to be having all sorts of fun together, I think.”

He whirled around, but the reflection had disappeared from the hallway. Heart pounding, he crawled back to the bathroom doorway, and saw that the mirror inside had a hairline crack running from the top to one side in a path just like the one he’d made in the young man. On the other side, undisturbed by the crack, was his reflection, though not where it should have been, given where he was. It was smiling shards gleaming, and he slammed the door shut, heaving for breath.

He was still fat. He was still fat and old. He got up, and discovered that the room wasn’t at all like he’d left it the day before. The floor was littered with a few suits, all of them too large for his usual body. The bed was trashed like he’d been sleeping there the night before, and not out…wherever he’d been. He had to get out of here. He had to get away. He ran for the door, but the handle wouldn’t turn–he was trapped.

What could he do?

He was alone.

He didn’t want to be alone anymore.

He looked around his room again, and all he could really feel was despair. He turned on the TV–it was another movie on HBO that he’d seen hundreds of times, in rooms like this one, all over the country, and yet that didn’t change the fact that he was alone. Alone and horny. Really horny. He reached under his gut to toy with his small cock, his other hand moving to his nipple without really thinking about it. He could order a porno, but those always just depressed him after he came. He kept idly stroking himself, staring at the TV because there was nothing else to bother looking at, and in the screen, in the reflection off the glass, overlaying the movie, he could see the room, and in particular, his eyes were drawn to the phone on the table by the bed.

He could…call someone.

He could call someone to come over, and then he wouldn’t be alone anymore. Like…like an escort. A young man who could…could come over, and he could–

He licked the blood from his lip. His hand was reaching out for the receiver, the other hand still wrapped around his hard cock. It was taking all of his energy to just stop himself from dialing a number in his mind, a number he knew, even though he didn’t know how he could know it, a number which he could call, and someone would come and play with him, and they’d have so much fun…

He picked up the phone, and he was getting ready to dial. Hesitating. He needed help. He needed to call…someone else. Someone who could help him. But who? His mind was blank. Who even remembered phone numbers anymore? They were all in his phone, in his pants on the floor, which might as well have been miles away. All of the numbers aside from one. One number, he’d known for years, a number he’d called in college so many times, he could remember it now, even though he hadn’t called it very often lately. He forced his hand to hit those instead, and he waited, praying he’d pick up.

Someone answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Billy! Fuck man, you have to help me, this is all fucked.”

The Fall of Troy – Part 5

Troy woke up slowly, stinking, sweaty and wet. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he might have pissed himself on the couch in the night–he knew that should disgust him, but all it did was make him feel surprisingly horny. He sat up, groping at his hard cock, and found Leo sitting in a chair off to the side of the couch, his eyes glowing white. Not the flashes from before–a steady, constant white, and Troy felt his old self pushing up through the filth. He wanted to fight, he wanted to go take a thousand showers, but something held him there on the couch, pinning him there while Leo smiled and said, “Good morning, son–how are you doing today?”

“Fuck you, Leo. Fuck…” but he didn’t know what else to say.

“I just thought it might be nice for the two of us to talk today, father and son–you know, about your place in this household going forward. You see, Troy, I can only push you down so far, and you have a strong mind. Letting you out for air on occasion helps me keep you under control, but it just wouldn’t be a sustainable solution in the long run. So you see, that really leaves us with two choices here, a choice you’re going to have to make.”

“How in the hell can I believe anything you say?”

“Well, you probably can’t. But if you really want to keep this mind of yours, if you want to start the long, arduous climb back out of this pit of filth I’ve thrown you down into, you can do that. But not here–not under my roof. If that’s what you want, then you’re on your own–we’ll drive into the city, and I’ll leave you on the streets with no memory of where you lived, of who I am, or who your step-mother is, and you can try to make it on your own. I mean, as well as a fat slob like you with no money or resources can make it. I don’t think you’ll get very far on your own, to be honest, but that’s a choice you can make.”

“That’s not a fucking choice! What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“Well, the other option is that you stay–and you fall completely. You lose the will to fight, you accept this, and you keep falling. You see, I made a few changes to the basement last night. The main room? That’s a massive sex dungeon, wired up with all sorts of cameras so you can broadcast your filth to the internet. Because if you stay here, you’re going to have to pay rent, you know. You’re going to have to sell that fat, disgusting body if you want to stay here, but I have all the confidence that you can do it, and I might have a few contacts to help you out, if you ask nicely. But you’ll love your life, because you–this old Troy–won’t ever come back. You’ll just be a dumb stinking slob, falling deeper and deeper into your own perversions for the rest of your life. That’s the other choice you have–compared to that, well, maybe a life on the city streets doesn’t sound so bad, eh?”

Troy just stared at him, anger and fury boiling in him, “Fuck you, I can make it. Dump me in the city if you want, I don’t fucking care, anything to be away from you.”

Leo shrugged, “Alright then–get dressed, and let’s get in the car.”

They drove to the city in silence, but as they did, Troy felt doubt start to creep in. He wouldn’t have any money, just the clothes on his back and his wits. But worse, he’d still be saddled with this body. He was halfway there before he realized he still had the dildo in his ass, and that he didn’t want to take it out. That he still was hornier than ever, that he could smell the piss in his clothes, and all he wanted to do was taste it, suck it out, and piss in them some more. He had his mind, and yet this body still wanted everything Leo had forced on him. He smoked a cigar as they drove–it helped calm him down, but he couldn’t even stop that. What in the hell was he going to do?

Leo drove around and eventually pulled up in a well worn industrial district. The sidewalk was empty, and he put the car in park, the engine still running. “Alright son,” he said, “Here’s your stop. I’ll miss you, but not really that much.”

Troy stared at the sidewalk out the window for a few moments, before he muttered, “I…I can’t do this.”

“What was that?”

“I can’t do this. I can’t…not like this. What the fuck am I supposed to do? How the fuck could I get a job? Where the fuck would I even go?”

“That’s not my problem, that’s yours. You made your choice, Troy, now get out.”

Troy looked at him, “Please, don’t do this to me, please don’t make me do this,” he said, but that smirk on Leo’s face–he’d known. He’d known Troy was never going to get out of the car, not willingly. “Please, just…I’ll do whatever you want–be whoever you want. Just let me come home.”

“Fine,” Leo said, “But I did give you a choice, remember,” he pulled his cock out of his jeans, “Now suck me off, you got me all horny with that misery of yours.”

What choice did he have? Troy sucked his father off the whole way home, trying not to enjoy it as much as he was, and trying not to think about what would happen when they got home. Leo led him down into the basement, and gave him a tour of his new rooms. The sling and the rimseat. The cameras everywhere, including his filthy bathroom. His closet full of leather and rubber, almost all of it in yellow and brown. The bed covered in rubber sheets. He wanted Troy to know what he was going to become, before it happened, and then Leo’s eyes went dark, and then black, but not black like before. Not a forceful black–the black of an abyss. A pit you can’t help but stare into. A pit deep enough to lose yourself and not even notice. He gave a snort, and fell in, deeper and deeper into Leo, into himself, and he knew he would never make his way out of it again.